She asks about the fact that I don't look her in the eye
I tell her of my dad's calloused hands
She asks me how it feels being a bit older
Blaming my mother and her cold shoulder
I don't know what she expected from
The answers that I gave her
I only talk about the things I know
"You just don't want to feel so guilty"
I wanna say I'm sorry, is that such a bad thing
"People aren't your play thing"
"People aren't your play thing"
I caught her with her hands on my shoulders, now she's asking me to explain
Outlining my skin, begging me to let her in, but how much more does she want
Her palm above my chest, she decides she wants to rest and I can't blame her
I only talk about the things I know
"How can you just leave just cause it's cloudy"
It doesn't make me happy, should I say I'm sorry
"People aren't your f*cking play thing"
"People aren't your f*cking play thing"